


Monotropastrum

by MelissaKeith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: I have a map but idk if I'll follow it, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelissaKeith/pseuds/MelissaKeith
Summary: It began in the summer of 1991, when half-blood Ciera Leong lived with her mother and father in a terrace house in Northern Ireland; had the letter not arrived, Ciera might have spent the rest of  her life hiding behind her mother's skirt. But, wallflower or not, Ciera's unique qualities may prove to be just what this world needs to right the wrongs J.K. Rowling left untouched against half-humans and magical beings.
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One - Owl Not Give Up**

The owl came on a sunny evening in July, while Ciera and her father were playing cards at a table in the back garden. Her mother was inside, having a lie down; it was luck and nothing less that she had decided to go in to ease her headache just minutes before.

"Kind of breezy today, isn't it?" John Leong complained, grabbing at his cards as the owl's tailwind sent them upward. He had greying dark hair but a kind and youthful face, with a tan line around where he normally wore sunglasses; if he hadn't been missing one eye with the other terribly scarred, he could've been quite handsome. 

"Yeah," Ciera said, staring at the spotted owl up on the back porch railing for a moment, before turning her eyes down toward the envelope it had dropped into her lap. She couldn't quite accept the reality before her, but sure enough, someone had used an odd color of ink to address the envelope to a _Ms. C. Leong, The Second Bedroom, 93 Cutte Drive, Killylea, Armagh._ Just in case this proved to be some cruel joke, Ciera used a card to flip the envelope, revealing the wax seal and crest. There was no mistaking it for anything else, and Ciera felt a sweat break out anew on her arms and palms.

Ciera knew what Hogwarts was; her mother hadn't attended herself, but her grandmother had. She knew it to be a secondary school in a castle in Scotland, and she had known it to be a place she would never see. 

"What are you looking at? Are you reading my cards?" He accused, bringing Ciera back into the moment. Several of the cards he now clutched to his chest were backwards and braille-side out, but Ciera was hardly worried about their game now.

"No, but, er, I think the heat is starting to get to me -"

"Ah, I see. We never get sun like this," he said, seeming put out, "and yet you both want to hide inside…"

"Sorry," Ciera said, stuffing the letter down her shirt while noisily moving her cards around with her other hand. "Maybe I'll just - get a glass of water and come back out. We should probably shuffle again anyway, there's cards all over the grass…"

"You don't sound well," John agreed, straightening up slightly. "Do you need help up the stairs?"

"No, no, I just need some water - sorry, I'll be right back - " and with that, she darted up the concrete steps, past the blank-faced owl, and into the kitchen where - after briefly listening to see if her mother was up and about - Ciera tore into her letter.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_ _Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Miss Leong,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

The back page held only information about uniforms, textbooks, pets, and a ticket for the train from London - so without further ado Ciera began flailing around the kitchen, searching shelves and the rack her mother liked to fill with unfinished craft projects for some paper or a pencil; Ciera didn't know how long the Hogwarts owl would wait on her, but she had none of her own to send. The only paper she could find was some sort of off-blue shade, and the only pencil a brown one, but she quickly scratched a message with it anyway.

_Dear Mrs. McGonagall,_

_I would be_ ~~_delighd_~~ _delighted to attend Hogwarts starting_ _1_ _the first of September. I have heard that there is a place to shop in London but I don't know where to get to it. Please let me know if you cdn._

_Sincerly,_

_Ciera Leong_

It was a mess of a letter, even for her; she would have taken a moment to rewrite her message more carefully on the bottom of the page while tearing off the top if the owl outside had just stayed silent. The impatient hoot it gave was stupidly loud, and caused her to jump; the floor above creaked a moment later, followed by a thud. There were always spare greeting cards and envelopes in the junk drawer; Ciera hurried to pack her letter into one, licking the seal. From just outside the window, the school owl watched her.

She could hear footsteps coming down from the first floor; Ciera's mother rarely moved so quickly, and she couldn't help but freeze up as her heart jumped. She barely managed to stuff her envelopes back up her shirt before Maura Leong pushed past her, long tangled black hair brushing over Ciera's shoulder as her mother ran out the back door.

"Shoo! Shoo! You're not welcome here, go!" Maura called out, grabbing the broom by the door and waving it. With an indignant hoot, the owl lifted off the railing and flew out of her reach.

"What was that? What's up there?" 

"It's an owl," Ciera tried to call out to her father; but the words got stuck in her throat. Her heart was sinking with every inch the owl moved away.

"Shoo! Shoo!" Though the owl attempted to land atop the roof instead, the broom could reach it still; and even if it had landed higher, Maura Leong looked posed to clamber onto the roof if that was what it took. After a moment of infuriated hooting, the owl saw sense and took its leave, carrying Ciera's hopes away with it.

"Well… whatever it is, has it gone?" 

"For the moment," Ciera’s mother's voice was even raspier than usual, and her beady eyes trained on the figure disappearing into the sky. When it had gone far enough, her attention refocused and she began to mumble under her breath. "Got to comb the yard, have to make sure it didn't leave anything, might even have to _move_ again, dammit."

"It didn't - it wasn't carrying anything. I don't think it was, er, one of theirs." Ciera said as she found her voice. With one hand she clutched the envelope through her baggy shirt, tight enough that the wind couldn't force a sound out of it.

"You saw it land?" 

"Yeah."

"And you didn't _do_ anything about it?"

Despite her attempt to whisper, John heard that as he started up the back steps; "Hang on now, what's she supposed to have done? Not everyone's brave enough to charge a big bird with a broom, dear. Although, if that's what you went inside about, Kiki- "

Her mother's glare redoubled. "It was there _before_ you went in? You, what, walked on by it?"

"I was looking for something to chase it off with - er, something to make sure it didn't go after dad or something!" For one tense moment, Ciera was certain that her mother would see right through her; but then Maura's shoulders relaxed, and the wrinkles across her cheeks evened out. 

"I didn't mean to say - well, I know you're a good girl. But you're sure it wasn't -?" She added in a whisper, leaning against her.

"If it dropped anything it was to someone else's house,"

"Or the mailbox," Maura said suddenly, "or the fireplace…"

"Er," Ciera's father began, his tone bemused, "dear, you know I love you, but - you realize you sound a bit mad? Why would a bird be dropping anything down a chimney? And I mean it wouldn't be too hard to clean up after, nothing to get so panicked about…"

Maura and Ciera shared a glance, before they both made an effort to relax. "You're right… I don't really know what came over me just now. A waking dream perhaps."

"I just was trying to say whatever might calm her down," Ciera defended herself quickly. Maura's lips twitched into a frown, but she let it slide.

"Well… alright. We're all up and flustered now, anyway, so let's play dice!"

"As long as we play inside," Maura agreed. Though John bemoaned the waste of a good day, he went in jovially enough to clear the table and unfold the chairs. Ciara played through four games of ten thousand, just to be safe, before she excused herself to her room. With her door shut behind her, Ciera took in a deep breath, held it, and released it. It was her first real breath in a while. She grimaced as she pulled her Hogwarts letter from her shirt; it was so damp with sweat that she had to pull each end to keep it open, but magically the ink was unsmudged. The envelope she'd prepared had fared better, but she honestly wasn't sure that it mattered. 

It was hard to believe she'd gotten the letter at all; she had two weeks left before the deadline to get in a response, though, so Ciera supposed she should be able to work something out, and perhaps craft a nicer reply. There was a man living on the other side of town who had an owl; Maura went to him sometimes when she needed potion ingredients, and had brought Ciera along to meet him once… 

But just as Ciera settled on her bed to begin planning in earnest, she noticed a flicker of movement outside her bedroom window. This wouldn’t have been very concerning, except that her bedroom overlooked their all-but-abandoned street of similarly trashed terrace houses. Ciera approached her window, then stopped, and trembled. There was an owl on the mailbox.

Her parents were still downstairs at the table… but the door was right in front of the stairs, and she would never have to be in their line of sight…

She crept out of her room, listening intently; through the hole left by the missing radiator in the bathroom Ciera heard her mother's laugh.

Taking the stairs carefully, timing her steps to match moments when her parents were speaking, Ciera inched toward the door. She was a single step away when they fell silent, and froze midstep to wait.

"So… I wanted to wait until you were a few shots in, but… what was all that about the owl?"

"Oh, John… it was _nothing_ , I just - I don't know,"

"Is it something to do with your mum?"

"What - _what?_ God, John, how would an owl have _anything_ to do with -" Maura's tone was overly defensive, and Ciera winced. Neither of them were good at lying to him in the first place, but once alcohol came into the picture her mother was truly hopeless. They were truly lucky that John had a habit of jumping to more reasonable conclusions.

"It's okay," he soothed her. "Whatever it is, it's okay. She's staying out of our lives like she promised. I kind of wish you could tell me - well, whatever it is you won't talk to me about - but we're going to be fine, Maura, I promise."

First came a sniff, and then a little sob, before Maura burst out, "I just don't know what I'll do if - if - if Ciera is, _is_ -"

"Sh, sh, shhh… Ciera's fine… Whatever's going on, we'll keep her safe from it, alright?"

Ciera supposed she should feel guilty, listening to her mother cry - but all she could really feel was a bit bitter. As the sobbing grew louder, she dared to step onto the landing and gently creak the front door open. Her heart leapt at the sight of an owl still perched on the mailbox, its feathers glistening in the moonlight.

She wasn't sure quite why she approached it so slowly, so cautiously. The front curtains were closed, and there was no one out. Perhaps she feared that the bird would flee before her; it didn't, and after what felt like a century, Ciera stood before it, close enough to see the shape of its pupils even in the dark.

Ciera held out her letter, her hand trembling slightly; the owl stared in response, and she feared for a moment that it might not take it. It took its time about grasping the letter in its talons - Ciera remembered too late that most people tie mail onto their legs with ribbon - but then spread its wings quite suddenly, and with a powerful flap, lifted off from the mailbox. 

As the owl disappeared into the distance, Ciera felt almost as though she was rising with it. 


	2. Plaid to Meet You

A week passed without issue; Maura Leong gradually seemed to accept that the owl at their home had not been magical, though her eyes squinted into the sky now and again as if to check for another one.

Ciera hadn't been quite sure what would happen next. She had spent much of the week filled with an anxious energy, and couldn't help but examine the skies herself from time to time. Would they send another owl, she wondered, and if so, how would she keep her mother from intercepting the message? How would she explain any of this to her mother then?

Ciera knew that she should have told her mother about her Hogwarts letter as soon as the owl was gone, for there would have been nothing much that she could have done about it then, but a part of her feared that the Hogwarts letter was all a joke. If Ciera never heard back from them, her mother would never have to know what she'd tried to do, and they would never have to fight about it.

It was a Tuesday afternoon on which Ciera's wait ended, while Maura was still away at the office. The sharp knock on their front door was such a novelty that for a moment Ciera didn't recognize the sound.

"Can you get the door?" John Leong called from the back garden; he was trying to set a trellis up against the back wall. Ciera, meanwhile, had been painting in the kitchen, working on a watercolor forest scene to put up in her room. 

"I'll get it," Ciera assured him as she set her brush back into her water cup. She spared a moment to eye her artwork critically - from a whole view the colors felt overly bright, ridiculous even for Irish country, and she supposed she'd have to find a way to dim it all down later.

The woman at the door was dressed the way Ciera imagined a social worker might; in a plaid skirt with a matching plaid suit jacket over a tie and white shirt, neatly tucked. Her graying hair was held up in a tight bun, and she peered sternly down at Ciera through a rimless pair of spectacles. "Would you happen to be a Miss Ciera Leong?"

"Er, yeah. I mean yes, ma'am."

"I am Minerva McGonagall," McGonagall said; and on seeing Ciera's blank expression, proceeded to gingerly pull out a piece of yellowish paper. "I believe you wrote to me earlier this week?"

Ciera's heartbeat stuttered and then doubled with a haste that left her dizzy. "Yes, yes I -"

"Who's that at the door, Kiki?" John Leong interrupted, coming down the stairs.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Would you happen to be -?"

"John Leong, and er, could you repeat that for me? The school part? I'm not sure I heard you correctly." He put a hand on Ciera's shoulder as he spoke, squeezing briefly.

For all that Ciera had been waiting years for this moment - the moment all their lying could finally end - she found herself trying to interrupt; "Dad, I've got this, you can -"

"Miss Leong," McGonagall said reprovingly, "am I to take it that your parents are unaware of your admission to my school?" A tense silence followed, in which Ciera stared down at her boots for fear of meeting the woman's eyes.

"... Yeah, no, I've definitely never heard about any schools, I - Kiki, I thought you liked homeschooling?"

Ciera took in a breath, and tried to focus. "Well, it's not exactly a normal school, dad. The things they teach there - well, I can't really learn it here?"

"Like what?" Her father asked, bewildered. 

"Magic, Mr. Leong," McGonagall murmured. Ciera chanced a glance at her face; the older woman's lips were tightly pursed, and her sharp eyes focused on the stairs. 

John laughed, clearly taking it for a joke. Ciera was fairly certain that if his father could see McGonagall's stern face, he wouldn't have dared.

"Right - so - maybe we should all sit down," Ciera suggested.

Bemused, her father agreed; he went into the living room first, taking his usual seat on the settee. Ciera gestured McGonagall toward the only other clean seat in the room, and perched on the arm of the couch, unwilling to fully sit.

"So what kind of school is it actually?" John asked, settling into the couch.

"Miss Leong has been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," McGonagall replied, her tone patient. 

"... It's not much of a joke at this point, y'know."

"That's because it's not a joke, Dad. She can prove it to you," Ciera said, shooting a glance at McGonagall.

"Pardon my asking, but how much vision do you have, Mr. Leong? I would demonstrate a spell for you, but I'm afraid I'm hard-pressed to think of something… non-visual."

"Oh, just have me float a bit," he requested with a sarcastic smile, and then yelped as he lifted from the couch. John grasped for the cushion, trying to anchor himself - but Ciera could tell that it was an unnecessary move. McGonagall had her wand steady on him still, holding him aloft.

"Is this sufficient, or would you like to touch the ceiling?" 

"Wh - How - Just - yes, no, please put me down!"

She did so with a gentleness Ciera appreciated, before continuing with her earlier speech. "Our records showed that her mother was Maura Anna Nicole Leong, born to Dana Sheilds, a pureblood witch. For that reason it was our expectation that her mother would have informed her of the magical world and Hogwarts' existence." 

It wasn't a question, but Ciera hurried to answer anyway. "She did, ma'am. I've always known about magic, and - stuff."

"Hold on," John said, curled against the couch now as though it were a lifeline. "Hold on - a minute. How's this the first I'm hearing of it then?"

"There are laws regarding who may know that magic exists," McGonagall answered before Ciera could start. "If your daughter were not a witch, it might still be illegal for you to know of it, as you are yourself non-magical.

"Now, to return to what I was saying earlier; Miss Leong's acceptance letter was written with the assumption that she would possess full knowledge of the magical world and have access to magical shops; yet her confirmation letter indicated that she did not. I see now that the issue is more complicated than I could have expected." McGonagall's frown was not quite directed at her, but Ciera shrank from it nonetheless. "Are you and her mother still..? That is to say, does Maura -"

"She'll be home soon, actually," John said faintly, and at that reminder Ciera felt her heart sink. "It's around six, right?"

Ciera confirmed the time - five minutes past six - and then a silence fell as she contemplated the conversation to come. Her mother couldn't possibly be happy about this - Ciera started to consider worst-case scenarios but found that it only worsened her anxiety. She couldn't stop tapping her fingers against her leg.

"I don't understand why you couldn't've talked to your mother and I about this," John said at last. 

"Because… because I really want to go to Hogwarts,"

"It's not like I'm opposed, it's not like I would've been opposed! I would like to know a bit more, so I can know if it's good for you, but -"

"Mum's going to say no," Ciera told him, slumping in her seat as McGonagall's eyes slid toward her. 

"Why -?"

"She thinks I'll get bullied or something there, too. Not just for - but for our family, too. What mum told you about grandma wasn't  _ completely _ true, but she has a pretty bad reputation among witches. I don't care though, I can handle it,  _ I can _ . I'm not as weak as she thinks!"

"I will need to hear your mother's thoughts on this," McGonagall put in. "In the meantime, perhaps I can tell you more about Hogwarts, Mr. Leong."

"Please," he said, his voice strained.

Ciera listened with only half an ear as McGonagall gave him some details - told him about the castle, the train, mentioned the houses… the Ministry of Magic, too, maybe - but she jerked back to alertness when she heard the sound of an engine approach their front door and then cut off.

It was with great anticipation and no little amount of fear that Ciera watched the doorknob turn and her mother come through, humming a pop tune. Her eyes were bright as they turned on her husband and daughter - but she stopped outright at the sight of McGonagall and the wand in her right hand. Maura paled quickly, and fell against the wooden doorway. 

"What's… Who…"

"This is McGonagall," Ciera quietly answered. "She works at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Maura repeated faintly. Her eyes finally moved from the wand to land on John's face. "Oh. I… see."

"Your daughter has been offered admittance," McGonagall informed her, though even she seemed ruffled by the new atmosphere of the room. "However, she expressed that you might object to her attendance at Hogwarts?"

Maura said nothing, and only looked at John as though the ground had been ripped out from underneath her. Unable to take it any longer, Ciera said, "Dad, she's staring at you."

"I figured," he replied; his voice was less even than he probably hoped. To his wife, he said, "So, I think I've finally worked out that secret we've been skirting around the last decade or so. If you don't mind, though, I think I'd like to hear it from you."

Maura took in a sharp breath, but pulled herself upright. Her dark eyes moved quickly from face to face, before she rasped, "Later. For now - the school. Ciera can learn from her uncle, here; there's no reason -"

"You have a secret brother too?" John interrupted her, and Maura deflated once again. 

McGonagall had her eyes trained on their cracked ceiling now, doing her best to hide her discomfort. "Mr. and Mrs. Leong, I think I will take my leave here. The deadline for acceptance is July first; you can send your response through owl, or to the address on this paper -"

"I'm going," Ciera rushed to assure her, ignoring her mother's gasp. "I want to go, I can handle it - I'm going."

"We'll write you," John said over her, putting out a hand into which McGonagall awkwardly dropped a business card. Maura made way as the witch hastened to escape from the awkwardness before them. A silence fell, and continued until they heard the crack corresponding with McGonagall's exit from their street.

"So," John said when he could no longer bear it, "Pros and cons to Hogwarts, go." 

Ciera just looked at him. "You… want to make a game of it?"

He gave a helpless shrug. "Beats sitting here anxious. Already getting a crick in my neck sitting here, you know?"

With a cautious look toward her mother, who seemed frozen in indecision once again, Ciera said, "Hogwarts is a world-class magic school. I'll learn a lot from all their different teachers. It's this beautiful castle with a lake and a forest - there'll be people my own age that I can talk to and make friends -"

Her mother scoffed slightly, and Ciera fell silent.

"You think she can't make friends?" John challenged her; Ciera realized that he actually sounded a bit angry.

"That's not - it's unlikely. Dear, you remember what happened to her in school, and there weren't even wizards there - now if someone doesn't like her they could hex her nose off, or, or - take control of her body-"

"But there are laws against spells like that," Ciera hastily interjected, "and children can't do magic that powerful anyway,"

"What if a teacher did it? What if they hexed you so couldn't tell anyone, tell us? And what if-"

"Maura," John said, getting up and moving to her. "Maura, can you honestly tell me that is likely? Are these actual possibilities, or your own paranoia?"

"I'm not paranoid," she hissed. "God, John, I thought you would get it now! All these years of pretending my mind's getting away with me - I'm  _ perfectly _ sane! It's been magic all along."

"No, I don't think so. You're not as good a liar as you think, you know," he chided her as he pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers. "That teacher just now didn't give a damn what either of you looked like. Why would any other?"

"You don't understand anything," Maura insisted, pulling away from him; but he held her fast.

"I understand better than ever," John corrected her. "And what I don't know, Ciera does, but she's still up for it." 

It was with this assertion that Ciera realized she'd gotten her father on her side. Maura seemed to notice the same; desperately, she said, "John, she really can't go!"

"Give me one good reason to believe she'll be any less safe there than here," John said. "There's dangers to being cooped up like this too, you know. I was waiting until Ciera said something to bring it up, but I hate - I don't agree with you hiding her from the world, dear…"

It was everything Ciera had wanted him to say for the last couple years, but she felt terribly awkward for being here to hear it. More than that, the stress of the last hour had been hard on her stomach, and she felt that she might be sick at any moment. Hesitantly, she got up and made to pass them; her father put out an arm to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, and then she was darting up the stairs to the bathroom. 

Ciera took turns dry-heaving and gasping for air over the toilet but didn't puke. She hung around a while longer, but it was too easy for her to hear her mother crying through the hole on the wall; instead Ciera retreated to her bedroom, crawled under her covers without changing clothes, and fell asleep.

It was dark when she next woke, and Ciera was briefly very disoriented. She heard a gentle knock on her door - for the second time, the first must have been what woke her - and called "Who'sit?" Before her memories of the afternoon could catch up with her.

"It's me," Her mother's voice sounded rough and tired even through the door. "Can I come in?"

_ Right _ , Ciera thought. There had been - not a fight, but something like it, over whether or not Ciera could go to Hogwarts. "Come in," she called, sitting up. Ciera braced herself for a fight, preparing mental arguments to answer her mother's decision - but Maura surprised her. 

"You really want to go, don't you?" She asked, her tone soft as she moved to sit on the edge of Ciera's bed. "Even though - even with everything I've warned you about?"

"Yeah," Ciera said, flinching slightly when her mother took her hand.

"Then I'll let you," she replied sadly, tracing the deep lines of Ciera's palm. "I can't stop you from growing up and going out into the world. But… Ciera… I need you to promise me. If it's ever too much, if you ever feel you're in danger -"

"Come running back home?"

"Well, at least let me know. If something happens to you, it'd kill me. You're my whole life, Ciera, and I can't lose you. Please, promise me you won't try to handle difficult things on your own."

Ciera met her mother's eyes, saw the sincerity in them. "I won't," she swore. Relief blossomed across Maura's face, and she gave her daughter's hand a squeeze.

"I still can't believe they'll actually be letting you carry a wand," Maura laughed, leaning back. "Your uncle Eoin - he had to steal one and figure it out for himself. I'm glad we won't have to go through that, honestly… you wouldn't  _ believe _ how many people got involved trying to track that one down -"

Ciera let herself be washed away by one of her mother's rare stories, just enjoying the present. Even when she had dared to dream of attending Hogwarts, she'd assumed her mother would cut Ciera out of her life the same way Maura had done her mother. This… this was nice.


	3. Chapter 3

McGonagall was prompt in writing Maura back, and soon enough they made plans for the older witch to come by early in August to take John and Ciera to London to buy her Hogwarts school supplies. 

"There will be another Muggle family with you, they'll meet you in London along with their daughter who'll be in your year. They're also worried about bullies, apparently. Maybe… you could make a friend today," Maura said cautiously, as though afraid that Ciera might get her hopes up  _ too _ high.

"Prolly not," Ciera said. "If she seems nice enough I'll try it, though."

They'd settled on a Saturday morning trip, fairly early in the day; Ciera was glad of it when she woke up with her body already vibrating. By the time McGonagall arrived, Maura was glad to see the back of her daughter.

Despite that, she did impart some final warnings. "Ciera, you must remember to be careful who you speak with and about what. Don't go anywhere without your father - you both need to watch out for each other. And… if anything happens, come right back. See if you can get a wand first thing, so you can call for the bus if need be - here's some Floo powder I've been holding on to, keep some with you just in case -"

Still, Ciera was in an excellent mood as she took Professor McGonagall's arm; even Apparating did not bring her down, and she barely restrained her laughter when her father nearly collapsed on McGonagall as they landed in the Leaky Cauldron's back room.

Ciera had been here only once before, and it held just as strange an atmosphere as she remembered. The bar was dark and dingy, the air smoky, and it smelled of alcohol, potions, puke, and just a bit of mold; nonetheless Ciera found herself quite taken with it. McGonagall left them standing against a wall while she headed out onto Charing Cross Road to meet with the other family; they lived close enough to London to drive themselves in. 

"That weird cackle, that's Tom the bartender who owns this place. When Mum brought me here a few years ago he let me try some firewhiskey -"

"Is that alcoholic?"

"I think so, yeah, but it makes people breathe fire sometimes so that's what you should  _ really _ be worried about," Ciera grinned at her father. His short, wide nose was a little scrunched, and he was only touching the wall by his fingertips; the smell on the air enough to activate his germophobic side. "Oh. I've been wanting to tell you this for years, actually, but - wizards can't catch Muggle diseases. Non-magical, I mean. Not even infections, so a lot of witches have iffy hygiene since it doesn't increase their risk much."

"There's no way that's true," John said; but the idea was enough to make him laugh.

"Is too. So all those times you made us take pills or put antiseptic on - total waste of money."

"You've had fevers! I  _ distinctly _ remember -"

"I probably caught some wizard disease off Mum, but - oh, that's probably them. Black man and woman, really clean looking and all dressed up fancy, their daughter's hair though…" Ciera cut off her quick narration and ducked behind her dad as the family, led by McGonagall, came within a reasonable earshot. 

"Mr. Leong, this is the Granger family."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," John said with an attempt at a warm smile; he didn't see Mr. Granger's attempt to shake his hand, and Ciera didn't bother to tell him. The other man was quick to realize the issue and pull his hand back, though he looked embarrassed. In the dim lighting, Ciera supposed her father's injury was hard to see.

"This is our daughter, Hermione."

John nudged Ciera, who unwillingly stepped closer. She saw the surprise in their faces, how much more uncomfortable they looked suddenly, but straightened her shoulders. "I'm Ciera Leong, nice to meet you." Her voice only squeaked a little.

The other girl's eyes flew over Ciera, from her well-loved trainers to her drab gray shirt, her dark blouse, the lace coming apart around the end of her sleeves - self-consciously, Ciera moved her hands behind her back, and this led Hermione Granger to peer at Ciera's face. "Are you half-elf?" She asked suddenly, her voice much more shrill than Ciera'd expected. "Or half-goblin, perhaps? I've read about - "

" _ Miss Granger _ ," McGonagall hissed, throwing a look at nearby tables though they were empty. "That is  _ highly _ inappropriate!"

Hermione's eyes widened, taken aback by that response. She looked hurt, embarrassed, and Ciera wanted to sympathize with her - a muggleborn with no way of knowing how half-breeds were viewed - but she felt as though someone had just stabbed her in the gut.

"She's fully human, thank you," John replied stiffly, squeezing Ciera's shoulder as he spoke. "Her skin's the result of - of a medical condition."

Mrs. Granger looked like she was about to cry. "She didn't mean to - to -"

" 'Course not," Ciera agreed. She could hardly breathe, but she tried to sound natural. "No harm done, so let's - let's get going, we've got a long list of things to buy - bank first, right, professor? To get our money exchanged?"

Hermione Granger's reproachful gaze followed Ciera out to the back wall and through it; Ciera saw Mr. Granger pat his daughter's shoulder and heard him mumble something like, "Must be a progeroid syndrome, poor girl," but as the brick wall spun out into an archway a collective sense of awe washed over them and distracted them all.

Diagon Alley wasn't quite flooded with shoppers yet, not at this hour, and that made it easier to see the shoppes in all their splendor. Magical goods were all but spilling from doorways and windows, as everyone seemed to have overstocked in preparation for back-to-school shopping. An elderly wizard had set up a bit of a stage against a second-hand bookshop and was simultaneously playing three instruments: a harpsichord, a didgeridoo, and something that resembled a guitar. The tune was upbeat, if a little medieval, and it brought up the mood within the group.

"What's Quidditch?" John asked Ciera, bringing her back to herself. There was a shop for it nearby, and a couple of witches arguing in front of the window - he must have caught the odd word.

"It's a wizarding sport, Dad -  _ the  _ wizarding sport, really," She started, and would have gone on, except that McGonagall had set off down the road with a little "Come along," and they and the Grangers had to hurry to catch up. 

She tried to be better about describing the buildings they passed for John, so that he could revel in some of this as well, but it was easy to get distracted. "Up ahead, that's where we're going - the big white building," Ciera said, to which he nodded, squinting toward it. "Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. It's run by goblins - there's one in uniform out front, I wouldn't know how to describe them -" didn't want to, after being compared to one - "- but they're shorter, a bit wrinkly, hook-nosed… not allowed to carry wands, but they can use magic anyway, I think…"

"Fascinating poem," Hermione said, examining the doorway, and then the goblin beside it. Despite the early hours he seemed wide awake. His eyes were focused on the building across the street, and didn't stray once toward the group; but Ciera knew that he was watching them nonetheless. Hermione threw in a pointed look at Ciera, then back at the goblin, and Ciera couldn't help but squirm.

Inside, they saw a line of marble counters, two of them staffed by goblins in professional but surprisingly muggle-like vests; McGonagall led them off to the right side, however, to a closed office marked  _ Currency Exchanges _ .

"Awfully crowded out there," John commented as they settled against the wall near the office door.

"Diagon Alley was lot busier last time I was here, actually. We can actually see around the people today."

"You've been here before?" Mrs. Granger asked; Ciera winced.

"Well, yeah. My mom's family is… magical, and my uncle's got - he had a flat in Knockturn Alley, erm, a road connected to Diagon Alley. We came to see him once…" 

"But I thought you weren't part of the magical world," Hermione said. "Isn't that why Professor McGonagall -?"

"My dad had never heard of magic til a month ago, so we thought it'd be better if… we had a guide..." Ciera explained, though she faltered as she saw her father's expression had soured. 

"You kept all of  _ this _ from him?" Mr. Granger asked with a bewildered wave of his arm toward the marble around them, the counters staffed by goblins, the robe-wearing witches and wizards shuffling in and out.

"They didn't think I needed to know," John said wryly.

Despite being in public, Ciera couldn't help but blurt out, "I wanted to tell you! I really did! But mum insisted-!"

"Kiki, I don't blame you," her father promised, squeezing her shoulder once again. "But, anyway, it's been a very interesting month. For you as well, I imagine. Did McGonagall demonstrate magic for you?"

The topic change was very welcome; the Grangers regaled them with the tale of their skepticism, their shock, and their excitement while John made noises of interest and encouragement at the right times. Hermione was only too happy to discuss the research she had poured into magic - "though I'm holding out for Wizarding books on the topic, obviously, but I thought there might be something useful in old fairy tales so I borrowed a few dozen from the library - "

The exchange office door opened promptly as John's watch sounded out its eight o'clock chime, interrupting what conversation had sprung up. The Grangers shuffled in first, and seemed to try to haggle a bit before passing over a fat stack of bills; this worried Ciera slightly.

"How much did you bring?"

"Hmm?"

"Cash," she clarified.

"Eighty pounds. Should be plenty, right?"

It came out to sixteen galleons, five sickles, three knuts; wands tended to cost around half that, she knew, and found herself anxious again. John wasn't worried, though; he was fascinated with the coins and bit into a knut when he thought she wasn't looking. 

"Now that we've got that settled," Mr. Granger said, passing the large bag of coins to his daughter, "Where to? A bookstore?"

"Wands first," Ciera suggested immediately. Her mother's advice seemed more sound after a half hour in Hermione Granger's presence; it was best to have as many avenues of escape available as soon as possible.

"To Ollivander's, then," McGonagall said, and led the way down the marble steps. "He provides the best of wands, but I do warn you, he can be rather… eccentric."

Ollivander's shop was… odd. Usually Ciera liked dusty places, the smell of mothballs, and enjoyed a hint of magic in the air - but there was something she just didn't like here. Ollivander himself might have played a part in that - she didn't like the look in his eyes, didn't trust the speed he possessed despite his old age.

"I've brought you two new students -" McGonagall began to say as they opened the shop doors, but she was cut off as Ollivander thrust a crackly, old-looking wand first in Ciera's face, and then in Hermione's. 

"Yes, yes. It's a strong connection, certainly," he said, beaming at Hermione, who looked appropriately taken aback. McGonagall cleared her throat, miffed, to which Ollivander replied, "Vine wands, you know, the moment their rightful owner comes near they've been known to act up, this one's been singing since I opened this morning. All wands choose their wizard, of course," he added, with a look toward the Grangers, "but vine wands are especially obvious about it. Go on, give it a wave."

Hermione took it hesitantly, but her expression seemed to clear once she touched it. She flicked it, and a flurry of glittery bird-shaped sparks shot forth and circled the room.

"Excellent, excellent," he said, looking satisfied; Hermione beamed at him in turn, though her parents looked altogether confused. McGonagall said something to them, but Ciera didn't catch it; Ollivander had pulled her farther into the shop, toward a stool amidst his many shelves. "Now, as for you - which is your wand arm?"

Offering her left, Ciera stared down at the old tape which began to fly about her arm, measuring her forearm, wrist, her thumb, and on up into her face.

"Well - let's see if we can't get a quick resolution for you as well! Let's see… yes… Willow and unicorn hair - give it a -"

But just as soon as Ciera moved the wand, it blasted out smoke. She startled so badly that she fell off the stool, flinging the wand into the far wall. Her father called out, concerned, but Ollivander was unperturbed. 

"Alright, not unicorn, then… " He had her try a pine and phoenix feather wand next, which wobbled feebly in her hand, followed by a larch wand with a dragon heartstring core; she felt a stirring of something, holding it, but Ollivander snatched it away quickly nonetheless, tutting.

Three or four wands later, he pulled down a short bone-white wand, unadorned by any carvings, and presented it to her. "It's a little out of style, I would say - but let's see -" 

That feeling from the larch wand returned with a vengeance; Ciera swung her wand wide, and it emitted a pleasant-smelling rainbow mist that twisted around her.

"Wonderful!" He clapped, "7 inches, silver lime and dragon heartstring…" he went on a tangent about silver lime wands and some old dispute regarding them, but Ciera tuned him out, running her fingers over her new wand. It struck her, though not for the first time, that she was  _ actually  _ a witch and would really be starting at Hogwarts within a month.

Each family paid seven galleons for their daughter's wand, and Ollivander bowed them out of his shop. Their next destination was decided by Hermione, who suggested hitting a bookstore next with an oddly desperate tone. McGonagall took them to Flourish and Blotts; but as Ciera had expected, she couldn't afford new books, so she and her father stood by the front counter and discussed the brochures there. "There's forms for subscribing to the Prophet here, too." 

"What's that?" John asked, "Like the biblical ones?"

"Er, no. The Daily Prophet, it's the major newspaper for the British wizarding world," Ciera explained. 

"Maybe we could get a subscription," John said thoughtfully.

"Probably better not to," Ciera replied quickly. When he raised his eyebrows, she added, "the Prophet only delivers by owl, it'd freak Mum out." Especially if there was anything worrisome going on - she didn't want to be yanked out of school the next time someone got hexed in Knockturn Alley. 

"Hard to tell if we could afford it anyway," John admitted with a sigh. They lucked out in a secondhand bookstore down the road, where they managed to get all of Ciera's required texts for less than five galleons and Hermione managed to fill a wheelbarrow with assorted other books of interest. 

"Are you librarians, Mr. Granger?" Ciera couldn't help asking.

"It's Dr. Granger, technically. We're dentists, but we raised our girl right, I think." He said, beaming with pride even as Hermione nearly dropped a bookshelf on herself while reaching for a boring-looking modern history book. The shopkeeper was impressed enough to let them take the wheelbarrow with them, which Hermione pushed down the road with much aplomb.

They bought robes, cloaks, and gloves next; Ciera was embarrassed to realize that the wizard in charge of it had to hem a good seven inches off the standard first year size robe to fit her properly. She wouldn't have to get new ones whenever her growth spurt finally hit, as they did such readjustments for free; however the tailor wouldn't look her or her father in the eye as he informed her of this, and she wondered how to take that. 

Cauldron, phials, telescope, scales… Ciera began to notice the way that people sometimes jumped at the sight of her, refused to look directly at her, and bit by bit it grated at what enthusiasm she had stirred up. She found herself clutching at her wand occasionally, wondering if she shouldn't make a scene, change her mind about Hogwarts…

"We've got a few coins left! For a minute there I really thought we would run short," her dad laughed as they were bowed from the final shop. She supposed he wouldn't have noticed anything amiss. 

"Indeed," Dr. Granger said; their purse had lightened considerably after the bookstore, but Ciera was pretty sure the Grangers had enough left to go again next year. Hermione had proven unable to resist the lure of her new books, and was already halfway through a thick copy of  _ Hogwarts: A History _ . She'd have walked into a dozen people already if not for her parents gently steering her around.

"Is there anywhere else that anyone would like to go?" McGonagall asked as they stood once again beside the Leaky Cauldron, though Ciera could tell she was weary from walking them around all day. "A pet store, perhaps?"

The Grangers conferred briefly, but decided that they were done for the day - Hermione didn't participate in the conversation, intent as she was on her reading. The Leongs didn't have enough money at the moment to consider a pet - and Ciera was pretty sure her mother would blow her top if they came back with an owl, anyway.

McGonagall apparated them from the pub's designated spot into their living room, and left them there after a stiff goodbye; John had insisted on holding all of the bags, so he was occupied with unpacking while Ciera ran upstairs claiming she needed to 'freshen up.'

The bathroom was just as much of a wreck as the rest of 93 Cutte Drive; the previous tenant had torn out the bathtub, leaving half-rotten boards exposed where the newly installed (but clearly secondhand) shower didn't cover. There was a boarded-up hole over the sink, as well, where a medicine cabinet had once presumably sat; the only mirror in the house was a hand mirror in the third left-hand drawer. This drawer was the hardest to open, and Ciera had to yank hard to get her hand to fit in enough to pull the mirror out by its handle. 

It'd been a while since Ciera had taken a good look at her face. It wasn't really something she liked to dwell on, and it honestly felt kind of stupid to do so when the only other people she saw on a daily basis were her blind father and her similarly afflicted mother.

Locking eyes with herself, Ciera winced. Her eyes looked flat black in the bathroom's weak yellow lighting, and her short, sparse eyelashes made her look creepy; had her eyelids always been so droopy? Her eyebrows so messy, her forehead so wide? Ciera angled the mirror over, took in her sharp, oily, overly hollowed cheekbones; her deep nasolabial creases; the sag of her jawline… her lips, cracked and wrinkled but full at least, unlike her mother's… her wide, flat nose, like her father's and nothing like a goblin's. When she pulled the mirror away to let the whole of her face in, she had to agree that it was an altogether inhuman face, one that didn't belong on an eleven year old. It would've fit better on a mummy, or a monster.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, and Ciera jumped. She opened it quickly to reveal her father, whose face was set in determined lines.

"Hey," her father said, and then out of the blue, "you wanted a haircut last birthday, didn't you?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still?"

Ciera wasn't sure there was any point in it; she was probably better off hiding her face behind her waist-length wispy black hair.

As if he could read the thoughts behind her silence, John reached out for her shoulders and turned her to look straight at him. "I know we've always pushed you to grow it out, but… it's your hair, and it should be your choice."

She thought she liked the sound of that. "But what if mum -"

"Right," he said, and his lips turned down. "I've actually got a new bone to pick with your mother, so… we just won't tell her, okay? Let it be a surprise."

They set up the appointment by phone; within two weeks Ciera was riding the bus back home with her father by her side, playing with her fringe and feeling the breeze shuffle the hair that now only just reached her shoulders. She caught a look at her reflection in the window - at the same bizarre face, just framed differently - and grinned.


End file.
